


Nobody Needs to Know

by 7fandomsandcounting



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aaron Burr Being an Asshole, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Gen, Harry Potter AU, My First Fanfic, this is an emotional roller coaster, wizard Hamilton, yeah basically idk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2018-11-08 16:48:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11085786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7fandomsandcounting/pseuds/7fandomsandcounting
Summary: His enemies destroyed his rep, America forgot him. There was a reason for that. His whole life, his whole legacy boiled down to this one moment. He could feel the magic running through his veins. "What are you?" Burr asked, backing away in horror. He smiled. "I am what I was meant to be." What if Hamilton was a wizard? ...So much appears different, but everything remains the same. Starts out with Hamilton's childhood in the Caribbean. My first Fanfiction, please rate and review!





	1. Chapter 1

A/N: Okay, here we go! This is my very first fanfic, something I just couldn’t get out of my head. I’ve already got three chapters written, and I have the general outline for the whole story. Note: the first four/five chapters are very Rachel(Hamilton’s mother)-centric. Don’t worry, your favorite bastard orphan will be featured soon! Please fav/review! Constructive criticism is appreciated, flames are not.  
WARNING: The first chapter is pretty dark, thoughts of suicide, etc. and could be potentially upsetting to read. I could say it gets better from here, but I’ll just say the emotional roller coaster starts at the bottom.  
Characters belong to Lin-Manuel Miranda and world belongs to J.K. Rowling. Not mine :(

Rachel Faucette, from the day of her birth, had four words ingrained into her memory. They were four words that had kept her grandfather and mother safe, and would ensure no harm came to her. They often came up when Rachel tried to appeal to go outside more, or asked why she couldn’t attend primary school with the other girls around the island of St. Croix.   
“You know better than to wish for things that you can’t have, Rachel.” Her mother had said wearily. “What if you had an episode in the schoolroom? What if something unnatural…” she walked over to the window and closed it before finishing the conversation. No matter how exhausted she was, her mother never discussed anything sensitive unless she was absolutely positive there was no one to overhear. “When I was your age, my magic flared up almost weekly. You’re old enough to understand the consequences of what would happen if we were accused again.”  
Then her mother would transition to the marketing stage of homeschooling. She would talk about all of the unique subjects that she would get to learn that other girls could never imagine, or how lucky she was to be a witch given her useless no-maj father.   
Rachel would have traded the ability to brew potions for normality in a heartbeat.   
And like every conversation about magic that occurred in the Faucette household, it ended with the four words that were a reminder of far darker times.   
“And remember, Rachel; nobody can ever know.”  
“Yes, mother,” she agreed, wistfully staring out the window while watching other children play. And at age 11, she resigned herself to an existence shrouded in secrets and lies.   
“Nobody needs to know.”

When Rachel was sixteen years old, the death of her father left her with a large inheritance. While she probably should have expected it, she was appalled over the hordes of suitors that followed the money like dogs. Just weeks before, she would have been considered undesirable; for while she possessed great beauty and intelligence, her gossip-worthy upbringing (the Faucettes seldom left the house, save attending church) and infamous strong will left much to be desired. It was said all over St. Croix that any brazen soul vying for that woman’s hand would be thrown out the door in under fifteen minutes; her snobbish mother trying to reign her in while Rachel brandished a long stick at the either vulgar or rude courter.   
Thomas Morrison, a nearby neighbor, swore until the day he passed away that one particularly… promiscuous man was chased out by a floating tea set. The very few who believed the tale told by him (for such an outlandish story told by the town drunk was neither believable nor plausible) could never confirm it, as the poor suitor fled to the colonies faster than the king could impose a new tax.

Rachel sighed with frustration at her hair barrette. She attempted to weave it into her hair several times before giving up. Maybe she should just put a sticking charm in it.   
She went to grab her wand from its usual hiding place behind her mirror, but found only an empty case where it should be.  
“MOTHER!” she screamed down the staircase. “WHERE’S MY WAND?” What could have happened to it, she thought, starting to panic. Oh, god, if a no-maj managed to get their hands on it…  
She ran down the stairs and into her mother, who gave her a pointed look and resumed walking into the kitchen. A servant girl prepared a tea tray for the next (unfortunate) man trying to win the hand of Rachel Faucette.  
She held out her hand, but did not receive her anything but an amused expression.  
“Consider it… confiscated until further notice. That is, until the lovely Mr. Lavian has entered, been considered, and left the house. I apologize, but I can’t trust you after what happened last time with that poor Wilson boy.” Mary was exasperated with her daughter. The endless stream of rejected candidates was getting old very quickly. She was clearly just attempting to anger her, and it was starting to work.  
Rachel looked blankly at her, and Mary was startled by the indignant look she received. She tried to fully explain what she meant, but Rachel began to argue before she could get a word in edgewise.  
Rachel felt mildly betrayed. Taking a witch’s wand was a clear etiquette faux-pas. “I can’t believe you, mother. I have plenty of time to find an acceptable match, and holding something over me will not change the fact that whoever I agree to will be the man I am stuck with for the rest of life.”  
“I’m not disagreeing with you there, but time is of the essence. You are sixteen, Rachel. You are the age to be betrothed, and when you are older it will become more and more difficult to find a suitable arrangement.” Mary inspected the scones and nodded to approve their placement on the table.  
“You talk of marriage like it is a business contract. Should I not look for someone with a similar personality, or simply agree to whoever has the most assets? I understand that you scoff at marrying for love, mother, but what about simple compatibility? It makes far more sense considering all that we are capable of, at least in my opinion.” Rachel tried to appease her mother while Mary called the Ann, the servant girl, back into the room. She inadvertently winced at what Mary was about to do.  
“Yes, yes. Just please, give this man a chance. Johann Lavian is a wealthy plantation owner, and it would secure your standing on the island permanently.” Mary pointed her wand at the back of Ann’s head. “Just one hour of civility, I’m begging you.”  
“Yes, mother.” That poor girl, Rachel thought while glancing towards Ann. I may have to deal with pompous rich men, but at least all of my brains are here.   
“Good. And what do we remember above all?”  
Rachel sighed. “Nobody can ever know.”  
“Exactly. Now, onto business.” Mary whispered a word and a teal colored light shot out of her wand. Ann crumpled to the ground.  
“What’s that charm again? It could be useful for Old Man Morrison.” Rachel, while excelling at potions, was barely adequate in every other area Mary had attempted to teach. She knew it wasn’t that vital to pay attention to lessons she couldn’t usually use. What was the purpose of knowing how to turn a match into a needle? A memory charm, on the other hand…  
“The pronunciation is o-BLI-vi-ate, dear. But don’t worry about that, I’ll deal with him if it becomes necessary.” Mary finished just as they heard a knock at the door.

If there was one word Rachel would use to describe her feeling toward Johann, it would be passable. He was kind enough, rich enough, and attractive enough, she supposed. There wasn’t any spark there, she knew that. He was twelve years older than her, for God’s sake! But a single look at his charming countenance gave her hope. Hope to start a family, hope to make a name for herself, and hope to escape the clutches of her stifling childhood home.  
Rachel usually tried to forget the reason the Faucettes left civilization for an isolated island in the Caribbean everyone seemed to pass by. But the night she accepted Johann Lavian’s marriage proposal, she remembered the story Mary told in hushed whispers long ago…  
“The Ancient and Noble house of Faucette was one of the most influential families in England. They were generous too. When half-bloods or even new-bloods needed an invitation or backing, our house would be more than willing to stand by them.  
Apparently, their standing was not as high as they thought. Other pureblood families plotted together, and succeeded in dragging the Faucettes into the mud.   
Your grandfather awoke to find his parents forced out of their beds, rifles pointed at them by no-majs. He watched the townspeople riot, watched them enact their so-called “justice.”   
Most of the time, like I have taught you, witches and wizards can escape witch hunts. Apparating away, or simply casting a flame-freezing charm, are simple and easy ways to avoid one of the worst ways to die.  
But that night, wards were placed up in the village. Anti-apparition wards. That night, two wands were conveniently missing from their places beside Lord and Lady Faucette’s bedside. So that night, there was no escape.  
He was forced to watch them burn.   
The next day, he snuck onboard a ship heading to the new world. He knew there was no life for him in that land, so he took what little money he had left and ran.”  
“These are the consequences should anyone discover our secret, Rachel. This is why we cannot and will never seem anything but ordinary. For the most off chance of discovery could leave us hung, drowned, or burned at a moment’s notice.”  
After remembering that horrifying tale, Rachel decided a better word to describe Lavian was ordinary. It was time to stop running. This one would do, and seemed to be a safer and kinder option than the brash young men that often were chased out the door.  
“So what do you think of my offer, Miss Faucette?” John said with a mesmerizing smile.   
Rachel took a deep breath. She knew that her choice had already been made.  
“I accept.”

Rachel soon learned than appearances can be deceiving. After the wedding, she had felt that all of her dreams had come true. Their home was a sprawling sugar plantation, where Rachel soon gave birth to a beautiful baby boy named Peter.   
From the second she held him in her arms, it was apparent to her young Peter had no magic. She tried to tell herself it didn’t matter, that it was of no significance to her, but Rachel couldn’t help feeling that there was a missing bond between Peter and her.   
The lack of a bond she felt with her son may have been what made her notice the lack of a bond she had with her husband as well. She could not simply agree with him when he made questionable choices, and Johann saw her honest advice on investments as nothing but spite and insolence.   
The arguments got louder and louder. Rachel was most often right, but Johann continued to purchase land and sell it, losing money more often than not. Rachel’s dowry/inheritance money quickly dwindled, so in four years’ time a sum that they could have lived comfortably on for decades was almost gone. Johann drowned her nagging out by drowning himself in rum.  
One fateful night, Johann poured a fourth glass and downed it with hardly a thought. Taxes and unpaid loans loomed on his mind, but mainly the problem of his degrading marriage. When Rachel walked into the room with an ‘I told you so’ expression on her face, he felt nothing but cold rage creeping down his spine. This is all her fault, he told himself. She will pay.  
Rachel was caught completely off guard by the bottle of alcohol that barely missed her face. She whipped around to find her husband glaring. She saw no love, no affection, not even a bit of guilt in his countenance. She thought nothing could be more terrifying than that face.   
Then she saw the knife in his hand.   
“How dare you… you bitch…” he slurred while she slowly backed away from him. “You’re going to regret marrying me, dragging my life into the ground. This is all your fault.”  
Suddenly, Rachel’s whole demeanor changed. The sniveling, smug woman that was the bane of his existence stopped. Her face grew into a wide grin, and he froze in his tracks. She pulled a stick out of her hair and pointed it at him.   
Rachel laughed. “I’ve tried so hard to put up with you, you miserable excuse for a man. I’m leaving, and you’re not going to move a muscle. Petrificus Totalus.”  
A flash of bright light engulfed the room. What in Hell, he thought. He tried to back away, he couldn’t move a muscle. Oh, god, what have I done. I’m going to die.  
But Rachel had no interest in him any longer. She walked out the door, still grinning from ear to ear. As she closed the door behind her, he could hear her whispering, laughing to herself like a maniac. “Nobody will believe you, nobody will believe you. I’m sorry, mother; he deserved it. Nobody can ever know.”

Rachel fled to her mother’s home as if a torch-wielding mob was following her. She couldn’t help thinking that if she didn’t get out of there, the townspeople probably would do what she most feared. She ran up to the door and started banging on the knocker with all of her might.  
Mary opened the door (looking quite displeased at being woken up at some ungodly hour,) but froze any complaint she might have had when she saw the expression on her daughters’ face. The fear and self-loathing she saw was enough to make Mary shiver herself with apprehension towards whatever had made Rachel so terrified.   
“We have to leave, now. I’m so sorry mother, he knows; we have to leave tonight.” Rachel made her way into her childhood home, and Mary made no move to stop her. She started into the hallway grabbing things off the shelves. The time for tears is later, she told herself, grabbing what money and valuables they could carry.  
Rachel was so caught up in her preparations she almost missed her mother’s response.  
“I visited Nevis, once. It’s close enough that we shouldn’t have any trouble getting there in a hurry.” Mary said in a quiet tone, still frozen in the doorway. “I’m sorry too, Rachel. I’m sorry too.”  
Rachel barely recognized the shatters of her world. How had everything gone so wrong? She didn’t understand, she didn’t and couldn’t think.  
She grabbed her mother’s hand, possessions in tow, and Rachel and Mary disappeared with a crack of apparition.  
Mary died shortly after their arrival on the new island. Rachel thought it only fitting that the one last person remaining in her life would leave too. This long forgotten spot in the Caribbean, her new home, was a place where no one knew her, where she felt so alone, and where she had no one to distract her from her past mistakes.   
Rachel believed that any happiness she had held in her previous life was over. Everything was purposeless, everything was meaningless, and everything would soon never have to deal with her existence.  
She walked into the town square with one purpose in mind. Images of a gun pointed at her temple flashed through her brain, and she smiled with a grimace.  
But events she had planned for days would not come to pass. Because when Rachel went to buy the pistol that was supposed to end her life (she thought her wand would be inherently suspicious,) she met a man. A man that would change the course of her life, a man that would bring her joy and suffering, love and hate, and hope and despair; A man whose child they had together would change the course of history.   
This man’s name was James Hamilton.


	2. Chapter 2

Seven years later…  
James Hamilton held his newborn son in his lap. Alexander babbled incoherently, while holding onto a rose James had intended to give to his ‘wife.’ But the infant seemed transfixed on it, so he could not bring himself to take it away from little Alex.   
Life was definitely looking up for the Hamilton’s. From the moment James had laid eyes on Rachel, he knew she was the one. He was willing to do anything for her, even after she told him of her darkest secret. But it didn’t matter to him, that she was married. They could make it work, he had thought, and they lived happily under the guise of marriage.   
Rachel didn’t inform James of her other secret, however; so it was quite a shock for him to see his youngest son’s hair turn a shade of rose red right before his eyes. He blinked in shock, but Alex’s hair remained the color of the flower.   
This was new. He ran to get Rachel, telling her that she wouldn’t believe her eyes. “It’s like magic, love!” he shouted out while dragging her back to Alex’s bedroom. “I was just holding him and his hair...” James stopped in confusion, for Alex’s curls were back to their normal shade of ginger. The child was fast asleep, the rose discarded on the ground.   
Rachel just gave him a look of amusement. She must think I’ve had too much to drink, James concluded as she pushed him into their bed. Had he touched any bottle today, he might have been inclined to agree with her. But he knew he was sober, so he stored the information away and hoped he wasn’t going mad.   
For if he was completely sane, it would mean that his son could work miracles. 

The second time James saw Alex do something mysterious occurred around nine years later. Rachel pointed out that James Jr. and Alex lived on an island, and it was vital to teach them how to swim. So the family made their way down to a secluded cove, picnic basket in tow, and decided to make a day of relaxing in the tropical waters.  
James Jr., who was well into his teens, learned quickly how to paddle around in the sea. He dove beneath the waves like a dolphin, laughing at his father’s look of surprise for learning so fast. On the other hand, Alex, who was almost ten, refused to approach the water. He looked at it with fear and apprehension.  
“Papa, the water’s mocking me! What if there are monsters? What if I drown?” Alex said while standing stubbornly in the sand. He wasn’t budging, so James had an idea.  
He picked up his son and put him on his shoulders, and they slowly made their way towards the ocean. “Don’t worry, you’re safe up here! I won’t let you get eaten by a sea monster, and I won’t let you drown.” James promised as they started wading into the water. “But Alex, if you don’t want to fall, you need to stop moving. Alex, stop squirming-Alex!”  
It was too late. Alexander fell towards the water: James envisioned the tears and braced for the inevitable.   
But to the shock of all of the Hamiltons (who were looking on in horror,) Alex landed on top of the water. He stood up and looked down in surprise. He was walking on several feet of waves!  
James snatched his son up and made his way towards the shore. The family walked back to their home in silence, lost in thought. Why and how could this have happened? 

Rachel stopped her husband on the porch. She knew she had to tell him, for whatever he might assume would more likely than not be worse than the truth.   
“Children, go inside,” she told smaller James and Alex while slowly closing the door. “Your father and I have something we need to discuss.” She grabbed his hand, trying to think of a way to explain without causing him to panic. She opened her mouth, but James interrupted before she could get out a word.  
“I thought I was hallucinating when Alex was an infant. I mean, that was mad! But something else like this has happened again. Rachel, I do not intend to sound blasphemous when I say this, but our son has done works of God. It must be: Alexander must be a saint.”  
Rachel blinked. This was not the reaction she was expecting. He continued on.  
“Walking on water was something that the Lord himself had done! I have seen a true miracle!”  
“James-”she attempted to interject.  
“I was not a religious man, but I think I must be a believer after what I have seen.”  
“James-” she tried again.  
“I know the church refused to take our sons for education, but surely they must reconsider…”  
“JAMES!” She bellowed. He finally turned to look at her. “I have something to tell you regarding the abilities of Alex and myself. He is not a saint.” She took out her wand and took a deep breath.   
“Avis.” She muttered, and subsequently gave James a heart attack. A bright flash of light occurred, and all of a sudden there was a bird sitting on the end of the stick. Wand, he realized.  
He stumbled back into a corner on the porch. The English pretended that witchcraft was something invented by poor, uneducated heathens. He, like most scots, knew better. He didn’t know what to think. Was it all a lie? Did he truly love her, or was he under a spell?  
He sat there frozen for some time, not saying a word. His son was not evil, he knew that. But how could he live with and love a witch? He finally managed to mumble out a few words.   
“So Alex is like… you?” He said in a whisper. He received a nod in response. “I’m sorry…I…I have to go. This is… I can’t…” He hopped over the porch fence and ran off. Rachel tried to call his name, but he was long gone.   
The weather that day had been impeccable. There wasn’t a cloud in the clear blue sky. But as James Hamilton ran away from the love of his life, boarding the first ship he reached, Rachel fell to her knees and started crying. The sky then joined her, a sobbing sea of gray.

A/N: Thank you for reading! Please Rate and Review!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Here’s the next chapter! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Once again, world doesn’t belong to me. Now, onto adorable, small Hamilton.   
After James left, Rachel tried to keep it together for the sake of her sons. She pretended that she was alright, that nothing Earth-shattering had occurred. The church school that had refused James Jr. would not take Alexander either, even calling her son a bastard directly to her face. So he attended a private school with his brother, learning math, English, and history (and excelling at everything.) After their classes were over, she would take her sons home and tutor them in French. When they were done with that for the day, James Jr. and Alex would go out and play, and she would begin to brew.   
The monotony of her days was what kept her functioning. She made potions that she could sell to wizards and muggles alike. There wasn’t much (any) magical law system in the Caribbean, so neither side of society punished her for acting as both a healer and an apothecary. No-Maj’s thought she was a miraculous medicine woman, and they were willing to pay steeply.  
If only they knew.   
Her daily pattern continued for months on end. It kept her from thinking of James, of Johann, of her mother. She was unable to dwell on her sufferings this way. She kept her past sealed up, for her children’s sake.  
To a bright child like Alex, however, this same day on repeat was torture. Sitting in his Math class, reconfiguring sums for hours on end was like stabbing his brain with a dull wooden spoon. He wanted to write, express his mind. But he was stuck here, reading and experiencing yet not taking part in the life of the island around him. He was almost eleven years old! Alex was never a troublemaker, but he was seriously considering jumping out the window and running as far as his legs could carry him. Anything to not be stuck in that stuffy classroom where he’d be learning over and over again the same information. It was driving him insane!   
Thankfully the clock tower in the distance struck three, marking the end of the school day. He ran outside and found his mother, and he tried to come up with a plan to escape a few more hours of suffering. He knew French, why should he have to die of boredom? A plan began to formulate in his mind as her began to speak.   
“Maman, je suis parfaitement capable et j'ai parfaitement su parler et écrire le français depuis des années. Puis-je aller jouer plus tôt? Merci et au revoir!” He dashed off before his mother could realize what he had meant.

Alex ran right to the town square, perfectly intent on finding a quiet place to write. He loved to imagine other worlds, something that was frowned upon at home and in school. However, a group of boys were playing soccer in the alley he was planning on hiding in.  
He turned around and was making his way out when he heard a voice call out to him. “Ay, you!” A pudgy boy around his age was pointing at him. “You wanna play? Sam’s not here, and it’s not fair for the teams to be three vs. two.”  
Alex was a little surprised. He was pretty aloof, and his classmates were often intimidated by his sheer intelligence. This resulted in him not being invited to play in many games, unless his brother stepped in. Even then, sometimes they were both excluded, with shouts of “bastards!” thrown at them.   
He was going to turn down the offer, but a small part of his brain (yelling at him to ‘experience!’) overrode the logic that said ‘these boys are trouble!’  
He made his way over to the group. “Sure,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Alexander.”  
The chubby kid who extended the invitation returned the courtesy and shook his hand back. “I’m Charles. Let’s play.”  
Alex had the time of his life. He was bad at the sport, but thankfully the absent Sam was too. At least he wasn’t disappointing anyone. He ran from end to end of the street as fast as he could, saving what he could and preventing a couple of goals from being scored by the other team. Alex played for hours, his notebook long forgotten on the ground. He was oblivious to the rest of the world, only noticing how much time had passed when the sky began to darken.   
Crap, he thought. My mother will be furious with me. “I have to leave, sorry! He said to the gang of boys. He found out over the course of the afternoon that they went to the church school. It was good that they didn’t recognize his name, for gossip on Nevis traveled quickly, and they seemed the type to taunt him the instant they didn’t like his disposition.   
“C’mon, mate!” Charles complained. “Do you have to run back to your mummy or something?”   
Alex snorted. That was the best insult he could come up with? “Yes, actually. It’s getting late and I would love the opportunity to eat dinner. Judging by your weight, you clearly understand the need to consume food.”  
Charles turned a livid shade of purple and started shouting. Alex had hit a nerve. “HOW DARE YOU, YOU TWAT? YOU”RE GOING TO PAY FOR THAT, YOU POMPOUS LITTLE WELP.”   
Before Hamilton could blink, the soccer ball was flying towards his head. Not wanting a broken nose, Alex quickly put his hands in front of his face. He closed his eyes, bracing for the impact, but it never came.  
He peeked through his eyelids in trepidation, but fully opened them out of shock. Instead of pummeling his face, the soccer ball had stopped inches from his nose. He would have been grateful if the ball wasn’t still floating in midair.  
It stayed there a few seconds, then drifted to the ground as if sinking through water. All six of the boys looked at it in shock. Alexander slowly began to back away.   
Charles moved his eyes off the ball and turned to glare at him. “What the hell was that?” Alex shook his head and kept walking towards the street. “Answer me, you little freak.”  
With that exclamation, Alex broke out into a run. He had been running all day, but he ignored the tiredness in his muscles. He knew he had to get home, had to get away from those boys.

Rachel was furious that her son ran away like that. She sat on the porch waiting for him to return. She sighed with relief when she saw Alex running back to the house. Rachel planned on yelling at him for hours, but she stopped any tirade she was going to start when he ran into her arms sobbing.   
“Mama, I was playing soccer with some boys and it was really fun but then they were mean and I didn’t mean to but the soccer ball was floating! I’m a freak and I’m sorry I don’t know what happened…”  
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Rachel couldn’t help but smile. Alex was just like his father when it came to jumping to conclusions. She hugged him tightly until he had calmed down, and then started to explain.  
“You aren’t a freak, Alex.” Rachel reassured him. “Have you ever noticed odd things happening, especially if you were angry or scared?” At Alex’s tense nod, she continued. “Well, there’s a reason for that. Our family, and families like ours, have always been special. You and I can do things that other people can’t even imagine.” And so Rachel explained magic to her son, who hung onto her every word even through red, puffy eyes.

Alex stood there a while, processing the information he had been given before speaking. “So, I’m a wizard? And you’re a witch?”  
“That’s the general summary, yes.” Rachel replied. “I can teach you what I know, but we have to be careful here. There aren’t many wizards around the islands, and the muggles here are very superstitious.”  
“What are muggles?” Alex inquired.  
“People who can’t practice magic. Sometimes we call them no-Maj’s. But that’s not important. Alex, we need to have this conversation privately.” Rachel had an idea. “Do you want to see some magic?” Alex quickly agreed, so Rachel grabbed his hand. “Ok, hold on tight.”  
Alex felt like his entire body was being squeezed into a tube, which was not a fun experience. It lasted for less than a second, but when it was over he felt he was going to throw up. He sunk to his knees and fell on the…sand…?  
Alex opened his eyes and saw they were on the beach. The sunset was a brilliant orange, but Alex couldn’t enjoy it, for he noticed this was the same stretch of water that his family had been swimming in the day his father left. Then a horrible thought occurred to him.  
Rachel saw the look of pain in his eyes, and realized he knew before she had the chance to explain. She had to get him to understand that it wasn’t his fault.   
“Alex, listen very carefully to me. Your father was a coward for walking out like that. He saw something he couldn’t explain, and instead of trying to make it work, he abandoned his two sons. You are not to blame for this.”  
Alex didn’t believe her. “Ma, he left because I did magic. I am entirely to blame for this.”  
Rachel sighed. “People fear what they do not understand. Eventually, he would have seen me do something that was not possible, and the same outcome would have occurred.”  
They sat in silence for a while, listening to the waves. Rachel decided to get to the point. “You can’t tell anyone about our world, Alex. Not your classmates, not your teachers, not even your brother. You must learn to control your gift, but if anyone were to find out it would be disastrous. Now, those boys will not be believed, and they’ll probably be punished for making up attention-seeking lies. But from now on, nobody can ever know. Are we clear?”  
Alex gulped. He realized that a new chapter in his life was beginning. It was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time, and Alexander knew he was up for the challenge. He turned to face his mother.  
“Yes, mom. Nobody can ever know.”

Translation: Mom, I'm perfectly capable and I have been perfectly able to speak and write French for years. Can I go play earlier? Thank you and goodbye!  
Chapter 4 should be out Monday or Tuesday. Please fav/review!


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Warnings for more depressing events :(, and the lack of historical accuracy. And remember, belongs to J.K. Rowling and Lin-Manuel Miranda.**

                Alex advanced rapidly in his studies. Rachel was amazed at the wonder he had at everything. He seemed to not only understand what she said, but understood the concepts well enough to apply improvements to spells and potions. Sometimes he corrected her, instructing Rachel to use a little less ‘swish,’ or telling her to stir a boils cure two times instead of three. Rachel hadn’t felt this free in years, and she now had somebody to confide in that more than understood. So in all of her free time, she helped Alex practice, teaching him everything she knew.

                Rachel had worried about how to get Alex a wand. Her own, which was made of thestral hair and Fir tree, practically screamed in protest when she allowed him to use it. An extra wand in these parts was a rarity, and the only other wizarding family on the island had none to spare. Hers had been a family heirloom, and her mother’s rested with Mary. This stumped her for a while, until a brilliant idea occurred to her.

                For a couple of months, men had been disappearing from fishing boats. She had assumed that it was simply the storm-filled summer. But one day, as she walked into town with her potions, the square was filled with people.

                There would normally be gossiping women hanging around the main store, or men discussing the prices they were getting for sugarcane or rum. But on this afternoon, every man, woman, and child was crowded around an unknown object. Rachel craned her neck, trying to catch a glimpse. But her efforts were to no avail, so she simply waited and listened to horrified whispers.

                “That’s all they found of him?” A woman asked her handmaiden.

                “Yes ma’am. He was just swimmin’ one day and he never came home to dinner. Then they find his liver floatin’ in the water! I haven’t heard of anything like it!”

                Abagail, the busybody of the island, ran over and delivered more news. “It was found on the other side of the island too, with these long, green pieces of seaweed. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was horse hair.”

                Rachel froze. She knew a magical beast that fit that description: it ate human flesh, and wouldn’t stop until it attracted the attention of wizards. It was a Scottish monster, but perhaps an idiot had brought it here by a ship. Even better, it’s mane made a functional wand core. If she tamed the beast, she could kill two birds with one stone (In this case, two Kelpies with one stone.)

                She set off for the isolated bay where the man had gone missing. She just needed to find a bridle…

*

For most people, avioiding a mer-horse/water demon would be a sensible thing to do. In Rachel’s defense, it went smoothly. She snuck up behind it (while using an invisibility potion, of course,) and placed the bridle over its head. The kelpie struggled for a moment, but the placement charm she had wound into its harness settled it down for good. She plucked a few hairs from its mane and weighed the benefits of keeping it. On one hand, she could travel across the ocean with class and style. But finding people to feed to the beast seemed a little barbaric. She glanced at the kelpie apologetically. “Sorry, boy; but I don’t think you’d have the most stable food supply.” She pointed her wand at it. “Diffindo.”

A deep gash appeared in the demon’s neck. It fell to the ground, writhing in a pool of red within seconds. A nasty way to go, but Rachel wanted to collect the blood. It was an uncommon ingredient that could be useful in antidotes. She could even sell some, give it to the wizard/merchant in Charlestown and make a pretty penny. She didn’t even mind some of it got on her hands. Pleased with the spellwork, she went to go find Alex.

*

Her son had already chosen the branch he had wanted to become his wand. It was Palm wood, and a tree that Alex had played near since he was a toddler. She hoped the connection to the wood would suffice.

The finished product looked by no means professional. It was crude, weak, and leaked out energy. But the delight in Alex’s eyes was worth it. He thanked her profusely, for days on end. It was by no means a perfect match, but it was enough.

                She felt exhausted, suddenly. Well, slaying a kelpie can do that to anyone, she mused. Maybe she needed more rest…

*

                “ _Maman_ , look! I have _three_ letters!” Alex ran past her on his way back from the mailbox. This one’s from Beauxbatons…” Rachel smiled proudly while he sifted through the letters. Rachel’s mother did not have the chance to attend the French school, but she often told wistful stories of it heard from  her father. A school that seemed like it was coated in gold, one of the finest wizarding schools in the world.

                “The second one is from a school called Ilvermorny, in New England.” Hmm. She had a vague notion of this school’s existence, but knew little. It was almost equally far away, and she couldn’t imagine being able to afford either of them. Getting to the school was an issue as well. She doubted she could apparate as far as Florida, in New Spain. There was no way she could get all the way to Massachusetts. The house she had grown up in had burned down days after she left St. Croix. With the ashes had fallen what was most likely the only floo-connected fireplace in the Leeward Islands. And she had no clue whatsoever how to _begin_ making a portkey.

                To look your son in the face and tell him that he couldn’t attend was something Rachel didn’t know if she could do. The thousands of galleons (or Dragots) Rachel would have paid in a heartbeat, but there was no way she could ever find that amount of money.

Lost in thought, Rachel only then noticed Alex had stopped at the third letter, looking at it with trembling, shaking hands. He opened as fast as he could, discarding the envelope on the floor.

Rachel picked up the letter, which was post-marked Antigua. _Who would be writing to Alex from Antigua?_ she thought. _The only person he knows not living on this island is…._

The realization hit her and she fell to the floor in a faint. As the envelope fell from her hands, Alex finished reading his letter before attending to his terrified mother.

_I know you must think I despise you and your mother,_ the letter wrote, _but that is not the case. I still have great love for the two of you, even if I think it to be best for me to continue living on another island. But I shall endeavor to write, and I wish you the best in your pursuit of success._

_Your affectionate father,_

_James Hamilton._

*

“ _Maman_!” Alex shouted as Rachel was given the courtesy of being woken up (by a pitcher of water, of course.) “It’s alright, Ma, really.” Alex said as he passed her the letter. He frowned when he noticed the complexion of her skin was a pale shade of… _emerald_? That didn’t look natural. Maybe she was sick? He decided not to beat around the bush and just ask. “Are you ill, ma?” Alexander inquired, hoping Rachel would not try to deny it. “You look nauseous.”

Rachel refused to reply until she had read the letter from her partner to his son. If he wrote anything cruel to their child, Rachel swore she would find him and transfigure into an ass. _It would show the world his true from_ , she thought dryly.

But there was no hint of malice in the letter, so Rachel tore her eyes off of it to reassure her son. “Wizards don’t get sick, Alex. It must have been something in last night’s supper. Or perhaps it was the wine? I probably just need some rest,” she said, putting on as neutral of a face as she could muster.

He didn’t look entirely convinced, but Alex left her to her own devices after promising to prepare the food. James Jr. came home to dinner and helped cook as well. He was apprenticed to a carpenter, and spent most of his days and nights away from the home. She sometimes felt guilt for paying attention to one child more than the other, but she hoped her squib son would have an opportunity to make something of himself. Rachel knew she had no money or skill (looks were debatable;) the apprenticeship was most likely his one way out of squalor.

The stew was flavorless, yet the three pretended to be occupied by eating it. That way, no one had to make awkward small talk. Rachel picked at the food, not really hungry. Alex noticed. His mother might think he was oblivious, nut he paid attention when it really counted. He observed her while clearing away the plates, and kept doing so under the guise of being absorbed in a book. Alex had been reading a text entitled A Study of Magical Beasts, but he settled for Shakespeare in the presence of his brother. He grabbed Hamlet off of the shelf and began to read. _To be, or not to be_ : the page read, _that is the question: Whether is ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them?_

Rachel looked down at her skin. Alex wasn’t exaggerating, she thought, looking down at her hands. I look like a disgusting old hag in a muggle novel.

Alex saw his mother stop and stare at her palms. She almost looked confused. After a second, she kept moving towards her bedroom, walking past him. He quickly returned to the book once more. _But that the dread of something after death, The undiscover’d country from whose born…_

Rachel almost made it to the staircase, but felt a stabbing headache. She paused, trying to clear her head. It was to no avail, however, so Rachel continued onwards. She placed her weight on the first step, but she felt another bout of exhaustion.

Alex ran for his mother as she fell towards the floor: she was in a faint for the second time that day. Alex checked her temperature, and immediately panicked. Something was dangerously wrong, and what could possibly…

Alex stopped cold. He looked closely at her palms. They were covered in red welts, and his worst fears were confirmed. Rachel’s hands were covered in red, blistering pox. A disease that could affect wizards was something Alex had never encountered, but it must be something that would kill no-Maj’s in an instant. He had to get his brother out of here, and find someone with even an inkling of what to do.

“JAMES! GO FETCH AT DOCTOR! Please, James, you haven’t been around her long enough to catch it.”

James ran for the door, noting the urgency in Alex’s voice. He made a beeline for the town.

Meanwhile, Alex cast a ‘mobilicorpus’ on his mother to get her up the stairs. He placed her gently onto the bed, and waited for the news. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. She would get better, right? She had to get better. He stayed in a chair next to her bed, praying for the doctor to hurry. He checked her forehead, and found she was burning up. This was taking too long, he thought. Why didn’t they get here now?

Right as he was thinking his concerns, James returned with Dr. Williams in tow. He barely glanced at her before the doctor’s expression turned grave. “I’ve never seen anything like this until yesterday.” He paused. Dr. Williams knew the two boys had few relatives and he didn’t want to upset them further. “Just like you, Mrs. Stevens sent for me. Her eldest son was fainting, and had a high fever. It had come on with no warning whatsoever. He started the day fine, but by the end… I’ll do everything I can, but I can’t guarantee anything. Last night, he was coughing up pools of blood.”

“Blood.” They whipped around to find Rachel sitting upright, a glazed look in her eyes as she stared at the wall. “It must have been the demon’s blood, I sold it to him. This is my fault.”

Alex froze. What would the doctor think? But he merely shook his head in sympathy.

“Poor woman. Hallucinating, too. But perhaps she meant something by that. Do you know about any herbs your mother might have given them?” Dr. Williams asked in a calm manner.He had to discover the source of the problem, or else people might meet the same fate as these dying souls.

Ales, of course, knew that the Steven’s were the single wizarding family in Nevis. They operated a trading business that managed smuggling magical ingredients to the Caribbean, and all over the new world. But what could have Rachel have sold him? The demon’s blood? Did she mean poison?

“I do not know, sir. Please do whatever you can. How is your other patient faring?” Perhaps this wasn’t as bad as it seemed. He expected several weeks for her to recover, based on the doctor’s grave tone. But hopefully it was far less serious.

Dr. Williams flinched at the hope in his voice. Oh, God, this was what he got for trying to be gentle. He took a deep breath, and faced young Alex.

“I’m sorry, son. The Stevens boy passed away last night. I am going to be forward with you. I don’t see any hope of recovery for her. Your brother and yourself should start to prepare arrangements, for I suspect the worst.”

Alex felt the whole world stop. He turned away from the doctor, for how was one supposed to reply to that? But as petty and unimportant as it seemed, he found himself stuck on one insignificant part of that explanation.

“I’m not your son.” Alex said with as much force as her could muster. “I’m hers.”

And Alex went back into that chair, and remained by her side. He stayed as the doctor muttered under his breath, feeding her a number of medicines to no avail. He stayed as James Jr. went to sleep, citing the apprenticeship he had to get to in the morning (as if a job was as important as the death of his mother.) And he stayed as Dr. Williams left the room, apologizing since there was nothing more he could do.

He stayed in the same spot, until he heard a whisper come from the bed. At first, he thought he had imagined it, but the words repeated. Alex turned as fast as he could to speak with his mother.

“I’m so sorry, Alex. I just wanted you to be happy. I forgot; I can’t believe how stupid I was.”

“Ma?” Alex didn’t understand. To be happy? How could he be happy with…

“The blood of a kelpie. I just wanted you to have a wand. But the demon’s blood, if it’s ingested, even in the smallest amount...”

Alex was horrified. “How could you risk that for me? Your life wasn’t worth my happiness, and it surely won’t ensure it. Oh, ma, I can’t lose you too.”

He hugged her with all of his strength, but she winced with pain at his grip. So he let go, and tried with all of his might to not let tears fall.

*

Rachel didn’t feel like she was dying. She felt weak, yes, but she couldn’t comprehend the fact that her life would be over before the sun came up. She wanted to see her sons grow up, make something of themselves. In a span of a day, she had completely ruined her vision of the future. How could she face them, how could she apologize for something as idiotic as this? Getting sick and passing away, for instance, would be from no fault of her own. But this was preventable.

She knew she was losing her grip on reality. _Quickly, Merlin_ , she thought, spit it out. _But what to say?_ “Tell your brother I love him. Don’t do anything stupid, Alex, I need you to have the life you’d always imagined. I found that old notebook you used to write in, before you found out about magic. You were going to change the world.” Alex looked shocked, as if it didn’t matter to him. Why would his past dreams of becoming a lawyer matter as his mother lay on her deathbed? She continued on as he looked at her with wide, glistening eyes. “None of this will change that. Take my wand and books, Alex. Go to the colonies, like you said. You can live in both worlds, even if I mostly stuck to one.”

“I bet the wand will work for you now. The core is of Thestral. Just remember, Alex. Je t’aime, et…”

But Alex never heard what she was going to say. And as Rachel’s voice faded away, getting quieter and quieter, he couldn’t stop the tears.

*

**A/N: aaaannngggsssttt. I am so sorry (muahahahaha.) Also, I figured out how to format this right, I might go back and fix the other chapters...**

**Chapter 5 is in the works! What did you think? Let me Know!**


	5. Chapter 5

1774

                Alexander stood on the bow of a passenger ship, gazing out for miles into the seemingly endless water. After everything he went through, he could hardly believe that he was heading for New York City. _Just you wait_ , he told himself. _By the time you’re out of college, everything will be looking up._ He didn’t dare dwell on the past few years, especially…

                _Flashback_ …

Just after the death of his mother, he moved in with his cousin Peter (on Alex’s muggle side.) He arrived to his house with nothing more than the clothes on his back. All of Rachel and Alex’s possessions had gone back to his mother’s (legal) husband, who promptly auctioned off everything in the house out of spite. Alex had to break in to steal back his own spellbooks. As an afterthought, he grabbed his mother’s wand as well before climbing back out an open window.

                Those few months he spent with his cousin were the worst in his life. Alex found himself ignored completely at a time when he needed family more than ever. His brother vanished into the carpenter’s shop, pretending all his issues didn’t exist. Meanwhile, residing with Peter made Alex subject to his random mood swings and irritableness. Peter seemed to despise him (along with the rest of the world, if that was any comfort.)

                Alex frequently attempted to initiate conversation with him, but could never get more than a few words in response. He tried and tried and tried, and one day during dinner his cousin had had enough.

                Alex had only tried to make small talk about the weather, but received a venomous expression in response.

                “Do you ever know when to shut your Goddamn mouth, kid?” Peter spat out. “Can’t you just leave me alone?”

                Alex stood there in shock. Why did everybody have to be so cruel? All he wanted was a friend. He felt tears welling up, but refused to give his cousin the satisfaction of getting to him. “I’m leaving,” Alex said as he slammed the door behind him. He ignored his cousin’s apologetic pleas, and made his way to the beach.

                Alex had learned to keep his wand on his person, so he summoned some kindling and started a campfire on the isolated shore. It was a comfortable, warm night, so he decided to lay there, gazing at the stars.

                Alex hadn’t realized he had fallen asleep until he was awoken by the dawning light, rising above the waves. Oops. Hopefully Peter wasn’t too worried. He approached the decrepit shack where he now resided, and felt a sense of foreboding come over him. The building was quiet: eerily quiet.

                He swung open the door, and saw little in the dimly lit house. He frowned. Why were the shutters closed? He grabbed blindly around the room until he held onto a candle. He assumed that Peter was out, so he decided not to bother looking for matches.

                “ _Incindio_ ,” he whispered, and the wick lit. He turned around, now able to view the room, and opened his mouth in horror.

                In the center of the room, directly above where Alex ate dinner not twelve hours ago, hung his cousin’s body, suspended from the rafters. “Merlin,” he breathed, and sunk to the floor slowly, lest he fall over.

*

It took Alexander years before he truly believed he was not at fault for his cousin’s death. At the time, however, he had no idea what to do. There was nowhere left for him to go.

He wandered the island for what felt like months. Aimlessly staying alive, living off small amounts of money sent from his brother. Sometimes, when money was tight, he would lurk near a house until the residents left it. A simple _alohamora_ allowed him to take as much food as he needed, and he slipped out before the occupants returned.

It was surviving, not living. He barely paid attention to the world around him, for it didn’t matter anymore. So it was to his great surprise, that on the eighth or ninth house he tried to break into, he felt his unlocking spell trigger… a ward?

_The Stevens Family_ , he inwardly groaned. _Right._

Not a second later, he heard the crack of apparition. Mr. Stevens stood directly in front of him, looking very intimidating to someone who usually never got caught.

He didn’t say a word as he dragged Alex into the house. Alex was terrified. The people who he normally stole from couldn’t turn him into a tadpole if they were angry enough.

But angry wasn’t the right word to describe the older wizard’s feelings, Alex thought. Exasperated, perhaps? No, Alex decided the Stevens patriarch was

“Frustrated. Do you know how frustrated I am with you, son?” Alex winced at the use of ‘son’ but let him continue. “Did you know your little _escapades_ have been attracting attention? They’ll throw you in jail if you’re ever caught away from your wand, boy. Confundus charms can only go so far.”

*

Thomas Stevens had had every intention of yelling at Rachel’s son until he was thoroughly scared. But after a mere couple of minutes, he realized that Alexander held no fear of him, because the boy had no will left to be afraid. So he paused, and looked over Alex’s too thin frame; matted, red hair; and shabby, unkempt clothing. _I have a son his age,_ Thomas thought. _If I were to pass away, would I be content with Edward living on the streets no better than a wild animal?_ Thomas hoped he wouldn’t regret this. Not really thinking it through, he sighed, opened his mouth, and offered the kid a place to stay.

*

Alex had never lived in a place where he could be truly at ease with his magic. Thanks to the Steven’s advanced muggle-repelling wards, he would walk downstairs and see a litany of chores being completed by Mrs. Stevens at the same time. She scrubbed plates with a floating sponge, directed the broom to sweep with her wand, all while her three children were engrossed in her lesson on charms.

Alexander felt himself forever in debt to that family. They housed, clothed, and fed him, all while encouraging him to work to the best of his ability. He started clerking for his late mother’s landlord, trading sugar cane and rum and other things that were out of his reach. He worked as many hours as he could during the day, and returned to the house at night to delve into his studies. Mrs. Stevens helped him by tutoring him in magic, and he searched all over the island for books and treaties to improve his political knowledge.

He learned everything that he could, absorbing wisdom like a sponge. Alex once more saw a future for himself. He had almost saved enough money to travel to the colonies, where he could be someone great, someone everyone looked up to and admired.

_Just one more summer,_ he told himself. _Just you wait_ …

But on the last days of August, when Alex was around seventeen, he looked towards the sky and saw pitch black clouds approaching. He felt a wave of dread wash over him as he ran inside. _Merlin, anything but this_ , he thought as the winds started to pick up _. Anything but a hurricane_.

*

The Stevens household was protected by warding from intruder, fire, or even the entire British army. That is, protected until howling winds tore down the warding stones. Forget the rain, Alex knew that the bigger issue were the screaming gusts of wind well over 100 miles an hour. Everyone in the house huddled in the pantry, keeping the small room together by sheer force of will. Sticking charms and summoning charms were cast on every board in the closet, and they sat there together until the winds ceased.

In the eye of a hurricane, there is quiet. For just a moment, dead silence. After weighing the benefits, Mr. & Mrs. Stevens decided to wait to see the outside world. They wanted to see the destruction after it was over, thinking it was kinder to their children to remain oblivious of what remained of their house. So they calmed the younger ones, muttering reassuring words to calm their cries.

But Hamilton, unbeknownst to those who took care of him, silently undid a sticking charm that was on one of the corner boards. Moving it barely an inch, he peered through the crack.

Where there used to be house around him, there was now open ground, boards and furniture. Two small sections of the wall remained standing, and through the hole where the roof should be, he caught a glimpse of an eerie yellow sky.

*

Alex walked around the town and viewed the utter destruction. The levelled buildings, the ear-piercing shrieks of those who had lost their loved ones, was all too much. Alex was painfully aware that it was only by the Grace of God (and his magic) that he remained unscathed. Even so, he could not help feeling remorse at all his belongings being strewn around the island, and the home that had housed him for so long being mostly washed away.

Alex had managed to save over 20 pounds since he was twelve. It was almost enough to start a new life, to start paying for college, and to start changing the world. But when Alex saw the Stevens family in despair, he felt selfish for his dreams. They had given him so much, and he had given nothing in return.

He knew what he had to do.

That day, Thomas Stevens was shocked to find he was twenty pounds richer than the day before. It was almost enough to rebuild his house. He never did discover who the donor was, but he was eternally grateful for whoever they may be.

Meanwhile, Hamilton sat on a fallen palm tree, observing and thinking. He wanted to show the world the death and destruction these poor townspeople faced, so he wrote down everything as far as he could see.

_But alas! How different, how deplorable- how gloomy the prospect death comes rushing on in triumph, veiled in a mantle of ten-fold darkness. His unrelenting scythe, pointed and ready for the stroke._

He put everything he had faced into his writing. All the pain, all the grief, all the loss, he put into describing the horror he saw all around him.

But what lucky soul remained unaware of this? Alex brought to his memory a man who was most certainly remaining in the dark to alleviate his guilt. Alex made up his mind and addressed the writing as a letter.

Above the first paragraph, he wrote the name of his father.

*

Alex had assumed James would not reply. It would be in line with his father’s actions ever since Alex’s birth, right? Avoiding what makes you uncomfortable, as always.

But James, to Alex’s surprise, returned the letter, along with a note urging him to publish it. _Write your way out_ , his father wrote, _do better than I and escape this hell. Alex, you have the skill and talent to make it somewhere; let the world see that._

_Your affectionate father,_

_James Hamilton_

That day, Alexander mailed the letter to a Danish newspaper. The next, it was published in the front section. And the day after that, Alex met Mr. Stevens, who was returning from town, and was given a hat filled to the brim with money. The older wizard looked at Alex’s quizzical expression and explained.

 “They passed a plate around. Total strangers, moved to kindness, by your story.” Alex held the money tentatively, not believing it could be there. Thomas smiled. “It’s enough for you to book passage on a ship that is New York bound. Coincidentally, there’s one that leaves in a few hours, if that’s what you want to do.”

Alex held back tears of joy as he addressed Mr. Stevens. “Thank you, sir, for everything. Tell them I won’t let them down.”

So Alex packed all of his possessions, filling his one satchel with his mother’s wand and a few books and clothes that he had left. He was seventeen, and he was leaving for a new land. _Just you wait_ , he reminded himself, _just you wait_.

*

Alexander snapped back to the present as he caught his first glimpse of New York harbor, and the reality finally set in. _I’m here, after all this time_. His brain was going the speed of light as he wondered about the next stage of his life, where he could forget the trials and tribulations of his past. He wondered how many wizards lived here in the city. Should he try and look for them? What about college?

As Alexander set foot into New York City, he could sense the turmoil. Based on the colonist’s reactions to the redcoats, there was a revolution brewing just on the horizon. There was a sense of danger all around, and there was no place in the world Hamilton would rather be.

**A/N: 20 pounds in 1774 = about 3000 USD in 2017. Also, that is an excerpt from Hamilton’s actual letter he sent to his father, and was responsible for him being able to leave the island.**

**Wow! We’re at 10,000 words! I can hardly believe it. Thank you so much for the kind reviews! Next chapter: time to meet Aaron Burr, Laurens, and the whole crew. Please R &R!**


	6. Chapter 6

_A few weeks later…_

                Alexander knew he needed to get his temper under control. This was _not_ how he’d imagined his first month in the colonies. He thought he’d be attending school right now, but instead he was groveling to the friend of the man who handled financials at Princeton College.

                He hadn’t intended to punch the bursar at all, but the man had looked at him like a complete idiot! When his anger had calmed down, however, he realized sending the man flying across the room (his magic must have helped, for he certainly wasn’t that strong) didn’t help the case that Hamilton wasn’t a complete Neanderthal.

                Aha! Alexander scanned the crowd and found the man he was looking for. He made his way over and hoped this guy would be less infuriating.

                “Pardon me, are you Aaron Burr, sir?”

-

                After hearing the kid out, Burr stared at him in disbelief. “You punched the bursar?” How on Earth could anyone be that impulsive?

                Alexander did look sheepish at being called out on it, but he didn’t try to deny. “Well… yes,” he said, looking at his hands. “I wanted to dowhatyoudid, graduate in two thenjointherevolution, he looked atmelikeIwasstupid, I’m not stupid! Sohow’dyoudoit, how’dyougradutesofast?”

                Burr blinked, trying to process what this Hamilton had said. As annoying as he seemed to be, Burr saw a tad of himself in the way Alexander talked. That is, if Burr was much, much louder, and a lot less wealthy. He would have told Alexander normally to bugger off, but he respected the kid’s ambition. He decided to answer honestly.

                “It was my parent’s dying wish before they passed.”

-

                Alex couldn’t believe it; they had so much in common. Burr tried to walk away, giving a nod of dismissal, but Alex had to share this development. He jogged alongside Burr, who had been walking away at the fastest possible speed. “You’re an orphan? Of course, I’m an orphan! God I wish there was a war that we could prove that we’re worth more than anyone bargained for!”

-

                Burr sighed. Apparently, there was no escape. He might as well get to the pub, even if he had to bring the overenthusiastic immigrant (Burr could tell by Hamilton’s slight French accent) with the unsettling violet eyes. “Can I buy you a drink?” Burr asked. Hearing Alex’s vehement response of ‘yes,’ they made their way into the bar.

-

                Hamilton could hardly believe his ears. What was this guy thinking, with sayings like ‘talk less’ and ‘smile more’? Alexander was sure he was joking. He had to be, right? But no, the man looked entirely serious! He even kept his beliefs to himself when his friends walked in, two colonists and a Frenchman that were already quite drunk when they entered the pub. Alex wanted to introduce himself, but decided to wait in the presence of Burr. It would be polite, he thought, to follow Burr’s advice for at least a few minutes.

                The first man was named John Laurens, who brazenly declared his hated of the redcoats, even though anyone could be listening in. Burr seemed to realize this, and was therefore looking quite constipated.

                The second man, who called himself Lafayette, was even more bold in expressing his hated for the monarchy. Of course, most of the patrons probably had no understanding of what _casse toi_ meant, but Hamilton figured telling the king to do that was almost treason.

                The last man, who must have had far too much to drink, slurred about how much he loved to love women and- _horses_...? Alex did not want to know.

                They yelled at Burr for what seemed like hours. Alex had run out of ale long ago, and was considering splurging on another pint when Laurens threw his beer down in exasperation.

                “Burr, the revolution’s imminent, what do you stall for?”

Alex had tried to keep quiet for the evening, per Burr’s advice. But he couldn’t resist interjecting into this conversation. He already felt a sense of camaraderie with these people that he barely knew, and since they clearly agreed with him, he had nothing to lose.

“If you stand for nothing, Burr, what’ll you fall for?”

-

As Hamilton’s luck would have it, Aaron Burr-bashing was an instant path to friendship with three revolutionary, manumission abolitionists. That night, they drank until the sun came up, discussing their hopes, dreams, and plans for life in the colonies.

The four soon became drinking buddies, much to Alex’s delight. He’d never had a group of friends before; anxious it would lead to his ruin. Hamilton had been called ‘freak’ one too many times in his life, thank you very much. But he reassured himself that if one of these borderline alcoholics saw something strange, they’d blame the whiskey and forget about it.

He could talk to Lafayette for hours. The marquis was glad to know someone who spoke fluent French, and someone to compare stories to as a fellow immigrant. Mulligan was the best person to turn to when you needed a laugh. From his stories about his exploits with women to lewd jokes about the monarchy, it was never boring being in a pub with him.

But Laurens. There was something about John, something Alex couldn’t quite put his finger on. Perhaps it was his eloquence, or the way he blushed when John smiled? Or maybe it was Lauren’s ocean-blue eyes?

A small part of Hamilton knew exactly what was different about John. But Alex didn’t want to ruin their friendship; Laurens probably didn’t reciprocate his feelings. No, his thoughts were just one more thing that made him a freak, another thing that could get him hanged.

Alex decided to apply his mantra about magic to this situation, too. _Even if I do find Laurens… attractive_ , he thought, _nobody needs to know_.

-

Hamilton and his crew were off to the pub once more, this time to celebrate. Alexander had gotten a scholarship to King’s College, which definitely called for a few rounds. However, a large crowd was gathered in the street, making it impossible to pass.

“What the hell is everyone looking at?” Mulligan said as he craned his neck, seeing nothing but an empty platform.

“It’s some loyalist, who’s going to be reading some paper in a somewhat dull tone,” said a voice from behind them. Alex turned around and found himself face to face with Aaron Burr.

“What are you doing here?” Alex inquired, but he wasn’t paying attention. He started to brainstorm ways to disrupt the event, without attracting the wrath of Burr.

“Well,” the pompous man began, “I was here simply to observe., But now, I’m afraid I shall have to take on the insurmountable task of ensuring you don’t do anything stupid.”

Alex glared at the pretentious ass. How dare Burr act like he was a petulant child! He tried to make towards the stage, but Burr had a firm grab on his arm as Samuel Seabury began to speak.

“Heed not the rabble who scream, revolution, they have not your interests at heart.”

“Oh my God,” Mulligan whispered to Hamilton, “Tear this dude apart.”

“Chaos and bloodshed are not a solution, don’t let them lead you astray…”

Alexander could get away from Burr easily enough, but he needed a method that was inconspicuous as well. Suddenly, it hit him. The best magic he could use and not be noticed was magic whose _purpose_ was not to be noticed.

He stuck his hand in his pocket, casting the spell silently while holding his wand. It seemed to do the trick, as within seconds Burr’s eyes frantically tried to look anywhere but at Alexander.

Alex crawled up onto the platform and stood directly behind Samuel Seabury. And just as the man scolded the crowd with cries of “For Shame,” Hamilton tapped him on the shoulder and undid the charm.

“Yo.”

-

Burr had never exactly tried to learn the idiosyncrasies of Alexander, but this took the cake. One second he was down in the crowd, the next he was calling Seabury a mangy dog in front of everyone. Burr had no clue how he’d done it. _One day I’ll find out your secrets, Hamilton_ ; Burr thought, _no matter how long I have to wait for it_.

-

“Is he in Jersey?”

Lafayette laughed at that one. Alexander sure knew his witty comebacks. He watched as his friend, high off the crowd’s attention, raised his hands and shouted “For the Revolution!”

Lafayette, along with the majority of the crowd, echoed with a “FOR THE REVOLUTION!” in response. Seabury stormed off of the stage, red-faced, indignant, and humiliated. It was a beautiful moment.

But then Lafayette noticed a stick poking out of Alexander’s pocket, and his heart stopped.

 Non, Alexander… was he that much of an imbecile? Did he perform magic in front of a group of colonists?

It was an explanation that fit, which meant the Marquis had pressing questions for his friend.

Oh, Hamilton, Lafayette thought, are you a _Sorcier_ , too?

**A/N: Cliffhanger, hanging on a cliff!**

**Case toi, if you ever wanted to know, roughly translates to ‘get bent.’**

**Also, poor Hamilton. I don’t think I’m going to write this as a Lams ship, but I couldn’t resist putting in that part. The tragedy of people who can never be together, and all that. Thank you for reading, en au revoir!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Previously…**

**_Non, Alexander… was he that much of an imbecile? Did he perform magic in front of a group of colonists?_ **

**_It was an explanation that fit, which meant the Marquis had pressing questions for his friend._ **

**_Oh, Hamilton, Lafayette thought, are you a Sorcier, too?_ **

.

                Hamilton nearly died of laughter when he saw Burr’s face. The man looked like he was trying to decide if he should be exasperated or confused. Alex started to walk over to Burr to gloat, but he was stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder.

                “Alexander, _mon amie_ , we need to talk. _Now_.” Alex was confused at Lafayette’s stern tone. The easygoing man was the least likely of his friends to berate him for doing what he thought was right.

                “Sure, just let me go infuriate Burr some more. It’s so funny when he’s irritated, I bet if I shout obscenities about the king loud enough…”

                “ALEX! I do NOT think you understand how serious I am about this. I will…” Lafayette stopped and thought for a moment, muttering under his breath. “ _Merde_ , what’s the word… not important, I _will_  use _transplanage_ to leave here if you do not discuss this with me.”

                Alex was so confused. He’d grown up speaking French alongside English, but he’d never heard that word before. And why was Fate so angry? “What on Earth do you mean? I don’t understand what that means, perhaps that’s only used in France-“

Lafayette cut him off. “Don’t play dumb, let’s go. I know a place where we can talk.”

“Please, Fate, you still haven’t told me what we are talking about.” Alexander said as he found himself dragged away from the crowd, and into a deserted alley. “What’s going on?”

Lafayette checked the surrounding area, and saw no one. Content they were not going to be spotted, he decided it was time to leave. “Ok, I need a drink with- merde, I remember now, apparition- it was APPARITION” he bellowed at Alexander, who froze.

Alex felt a flurry of questions go past him. How did the man find out? Was the Frenchman mad? Was he one of those scourers that his mother told him lurked in America? Wait, no, that couldn’t be right, his friend was barely twenty, the witch trials were decades ago. So Lafayette knew about magic? How?

_Oh, I get it now_ , he thought as he felt himself disappear with a crack, and Alexander and Lafayette teleported away.

.

Burr, meanwhile, heard something that sounded like a gunshot coming from the alley he had spied the immigrants entering. He felt a flash of fear, and ran as fast as he could towards them. Sure, Alex was annoying, but he didn’t deserve a bullet to his brain.

Of course, Burr thought it was more than likely that Alex was the one who had shot a man, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

But to his great surprise, Burr found the alleyway completely deserted. There was not a soul to be found.

_That’s odd_ , he thought, _but I suppose everything about Hamilton is_. _I really need a drink._

.

Meanwhile, Alexander and Lafayette arrived in a pub. Hamilton opened his eyes to find an array of things that had him reeling in shock.

It was dim in the room, but Alex could clearly see things were occurring that were atypical of any pub he had ever been to. The main bar was tended by a creature he had never seen before; it was short, had long ears, and was passing drinks to patrons telekinetically. Candles floated overhead, and in the corner, an enchanted fiddle and piano were playing a jaunting tune by themselves.

Alex was not prone to fainting, but he felt a dizzy spell coming on as he grabbed a barstool to steady himself. “So, I guess there is a wizard community in the new word,” he chuckled weakly.

“Of course,” Lafayette said as he dusted off his jacket. “You mean you have never been to this side of Manhattan? That shouldn’t be, unless your parents are… not as gifted as yourself.”

Hamilton glared at the man. What was the Marquis insinuating? He had to be careful here, Alex realized. Someone as titled as Fate must be a pureblood. If Lafayette had prejudice towards those with muddled bloodlines, Alex doubted he would get farther with their friendship _. Let’s force him to show his hand_ , Alex thought as he took on a confident air.

“My father is a No-maj, but my mother was a witch, if that was what you meant. Not that matters, of course” he said while watching Lafayette’s countenance with a careful eye. To his relief, Fate looked embarrassed and quickly tried to smooth things over.

“Non, I am sorry, Alec.  I did not mean to offend you, for blood status is of no importance to me. Actually, that is one of the reasons I left France, to get away from my parents. They are quite closed-minded, I am afraid. You are like my brother, and I will fight to the end with you.”

“Apology accepted, Monsieur,” Hamilton said as he tried to think of a way to explain his predicament to his friend. But he trusted him, so Alex decided to tell him his life story. He ordered two beers, but Lafayette interrupted.

“If this conversation requires something stronger, I recommend firewhiskey _, mon amie_. It would most likely make muggles pass out if they took a single sip.”

“Perfect,” Hamilton said as he waved the bartending creature over. “Two of those, please.”

And after Alex felt considerably fuzzier, he began to speak.

.

Lafayette grew more and more horrified as Alex told his harrowing tale. No wonder Hamilton knew so little of this world, for his family was deep underground, facing poisonings and hurricanes. Alexander had no idea of the current politics, of MACUSA…

The Marquis also remembered the Faucette name, vaguely. While he was sure it was on the list of extinct lines, perhaps there was a way for Alex to claim the title. The irony of Alex growing up in squalor when either a lordship or bank account could be in his name was especially cruel. Lafayette didn’t want to give his friend false hope, however, so he told himself to investigate in secret without telling Alex.

“You poor soul, _mon amie_. If there is anything I can do to help you, let me know” Lafayette said as he patted Alex on the back. Lafayette had money to blow, so he truly meant what he said.

“Fate, you are very kind, but I cannot accept such charity. It is generous of you to offer, but I have money and opportunity here in America.” Alex replied in a quiet tone. His eyes were no longer focused on the Marquis, and Lafayette turned around to see what Hamilton was looking at.

.

Three wizards were sitting at a table, getting louder and louder in a heated argument.

“I don’t give a damn about the Statute of Secrecy, you ass! We could be turning the Redcoats into lice, yet you all sit around and act like nothing has happened. What events that occur with the No-Maj’s affect us, and you daft idiots can’t see it!”

“It’s best to stay out of it, Hank” a man with a ridiculous-looking hat said. “Sure, you would get rid of the redcoats, but it would end with burnings at the stake. Quiet support, that’s what we should do. Send in the gold and hope for the best. You need to realize, No-Maj’s usually hate magic more than taxes.”

The third man tried to interject. “Look, you two, it’s not like the monarchy has a hold over us, anyways. The war itself is pointless for us…”

‘Hank’ pointed his wand at the man, who soon found himself unable to voice his (loyalist) views. Alexander could see why being turned into a particularly hideous sofa could do that to a person.

Ugly hat man turned a shade of purple and drew his wand. “TRANSFIGURE MY BROTHER BACK, YOU PATHETIC EXCUSE OF A BEING.”

Hamilton grimaced at the scene. “We should get out of here, Fate. I’ve only ever seen one wizarding duel, and I’m perfectly content with keeping that number stagnant.”

“I agree, _mon amie_.” Lafayette said as they made their way towards the door. Hamilton glanced outside and was glad to find he was only a few blocks from his room.

“ _Bonne nuit_ , Lafayette. See you with the crew on Friday, yes?” Alex started to make his way to his apartment, but heard Lafayette shouting to him in a slurred voice.

“Don’ think I forgot ‘bout what you did in front of Burr, Alex. That’s bad, breaking the Statute of Secrecy, that is. You never know who’s watching…”

Alexander smiled to himself, and continued to walk along the street in darkness. He understood, more than anyone, but if nobody knew it was him…

He made his way into his bed, and promptly passed out. In the morning, when he downed a potion to deal with his killer hangover, he realized there was so much to think about and plan.

_How many wizards are patriots? And how do I become a part of this MACUSA?_

**A/N: I’m Back! I hope you liked the chapter! Please rate/review!  
I have some bad news for you guys. I’m going on vacation/camping for the next month or so, and won’t have access to a computer in the foreseeable future. I promise to keep writing,  & will update ASAP. Thank you so much for reading! Tot ziens!**


	8. Chapter 8

                King George the Third was absolutely livid. How dare those _insipid_ , idiotic, colonists dare rebel! After everything the monarchy had done for them, this was a slap in the face. He had even heard rumours of American wizards joining the fighting; their idiotic declaration seemed to have rallied both parts of the New World against him. _They will pay_ , he grinned like a maniac as he summoned his generals.

_You’ll be back, America,_ he thought darkly. _You’ll be back, no matter what the cost._

.

Hamilton was sitting in class when he started to hear the whispers. The air around the college stirred with a mix of apprehension and panic. The future was so uncertain, and everyone was walking on tooth and nail.

It was dangerous to be talking freely, but Alex knew that just meant you had to be more careful listening. It was discouraging to know what his classmates felt.

_England’s going to tear us apart;_

_What about my parents? If they don’t kill me for being a patriot, the redcoats will;_

_I don’t want to die, God, I’m going to die in this war:_

Whenever they thought nobody would be able to hear, they expressed their deepest concerns to friends, or out loud to themselves. But Alex knew.

It was therefore unsurprising to him when the news broke. The crier ran into King’s College.

“Thirty-two thousand troops! Thirty-two thousand troops in New York Harbor!”

Many of the boys fled out of cowardice. It was understandable, if not disappointing. Alexander felt it was abhorrent to desert your country. So instead of abandoning ship when class ended early, he grabbed as many men as he could and went to go find John Laurens.

.

The militia was in disarray, but Hamilton ran as fast as he could through horses and uniforms and supplies. He knew that the closing of King’s College was a certainty, and told anyone he met just so. So as many deserters as there were, Alex equaled them with a new volunteer company ready to help in any way they could.

The war was exciting, in a way. Alex could always hide or fight with more gusto if needed. Thanks to the wide array of potions he kept on him at all times, he had little fear for his own life and vowed to try and save No-maj’s as well.

Sure, he’d obliviate them afterwards, but better a small chance of an addled brain over a large chance of a dead muggle.

.

While the colonies were a better place to live than England in regards to Alex’s blood status, he wasn’t stupid. The legacy he wanted to create for his posterity was not an achievable goal having less pure blood in him than a quarter horse. This left him scouring the world of non-magic users for a way to make a difference. Whenever he did so, Alexander always reached the same conclusion. There was only one way to leave his fingerprints.

_I am either going to die on the battlefield in glory or rise up._

.

Laurens was in full on commander mode when Alex walked up. “What can I do, John?” he said as he surveyed what could be best described as organized chaos. The gathering patriots in Laurens’ regiment swarmed upon a meager pile of bayonets and rifles, while their Sargent shook his head at the lack of supplies.

Laurens nodded in acknowledgement, but remained focused on his soldiers. “Only thing we need, Alex, is more men and muskets. Grab your gun, and let’s go.”

Hamilton gestured to the College kids he had brought along with him. “Men, we’ve got. And muskets…”

Hamilton slipped his hands out of John’s view and conjured up a rifle. “…Already got one,” he said as he brought a gun out from behind his back.

John grinned, but looked at him questioningly. “How the hell’d you do that?” he asked. “Alex, you sure have some tricks up your sleeve.”

_Well_ , Hamilton thought _, I do have a wand up my sleeve, but…_ He didn’t know how to respond, so he just turned scarlet and gave an awkward smile.

He was saved from answering by a loud boom of a cannon. “They’re trying to take Brooklyn,” Laurens grimaced. “I need to go check with the Captain for my orders. See you on the other side of the war.”

As John walked away, Alex was unsure of what to do with his volunteers. Before he could make up his mind, however, he noticed his only French friend running towards him at an inhuman pace. _Inconspicuous, Fate,_ he thought to himself.

“Alexander” he panted, gasping for breath. “I have a job I think you may be interested in. Some of the _others_ (he emphasized others to ensure they were on the same page) are planning a way to mess with the redcoats, if you are interested.”

Perfect. He left the guys to get organized (theoretically,) and turned to the other wizard. “Of course.” They snuck behind a building, and the Marquis teleported them away.

.

They apparated to a remote area near Kip’s Bay. Hamilton looked around, hoping for a wizard army. Instead, Alex found two other men looking equally unpleased to see him.

“Can I talk to, you, Laf?” the stoutest wizard with a surly expression walked everyone away a few feet, and instantly all Alex could hear was a faint buzzing noise.

Dammit. This would not do. Alex focused on the strange sound. Almost instinctively, he took out an invisibility potion out of his satchel, and snuck over to the group without notice. Once he got right behind Lafayette, he felt his head clear. Almost like he was inside a bubble, Alex could now pick up every word.

“This is all you could find?” the surly man said. “The kid’s younger than you!”

“And yet I doubt your ability more than his.” Lafayette replied smoothly.

Hamilton thought that was perhaps a little too much backing given to him, (he’d cast less than a dozen spells in the Marquis’ presence) but he appreciated the support.

“Is he a mudblood?” the other wizard asked, seeming genuinely curious. “He’s _leaking_ magic, Fate. Even a No-maj could notice it.”

Hamilton was a mixture of offended and confused, and decided to voice his displeasure at the direction of the conversation. However, Lafayette, who must have noticed he was there, kicked Alex in the shins and vouched for him.

“You have to be looking for it, Henry. I myself only realized it a few months ago, and I’d known him for over a year.” The Frenchman looked irate at the pointless questions, but his last statement seemed to intrigue the other man even more.

“Merlin!” Henry exclaimed. “You mean to tell me that he’s that powerful? If I had that much magic to waste, I’d be dead, or worse, a squib.”

“I suppose so, monsieur.” Lafayette looked uncomfortable, like he knew something but didn’t want to share his thoughts.

Alex, on the other hand, did. He made himself visible and jumped in front of the wizards. The Marquis sighed at Hamilton’s dramatic entrance, while the others looked on with a mixture of shock and awe.

“Damn, I didn’t notice a thing!” The other man said. “You could go places, kid. If you ever want a job- wait. How good are you with potions?”

“I’m alright,” Alex said as he passed him the satchel filled with polyjuice, strength, draught of living death, and a plethora of other potions. “But I have so many questions.”

                The wizard looked impressed, and handed him back the bag. “I’d be glad to answer them, but now’s not the best time, Mr…” he stopped.

                “Alexander Hamilton, at your service, sir” he said as he extended his hand.

                “Nathaniel Greene, and that hardass over there is Henry Knox. But onto other business. How do you feel about stealing cannons?”

.

                The process of British cannon thievery was much like an assembly line, Hamilton thought. In the dead of the night, Greene feather-lighted them, while Alex shrunk them and passed the cannons over to Knox. From there, Lafayette brought them to the continental camps and returned them to normailcy.

                They managed to get around fifty cannons before the sun came up. He was disappointed that he wouldn’t get to see the English reactions, but was so exhausted he fell asleep the second he returned to his apartment. _Couldn’t have gone smoother_ , he drowsily thought as streams of sunlight burst through the window.

                * _An hour earlier…_

                John Laurens was an early riser. He thought it was important to watch the sun come up each morning, signifying the start of a new day, a new battle to be fought.

                He usually was the only one awake during the pre-dawn hours, so he took notice when the Marquis de Lafayette, someone whom he considered a friend, pushed a several ton cannon with one hand into camp. A _… wait, a British cannon_?

                Before his brain could even begin to comprehend the scene, Alexander walked up to the Frenchman. “Those Redcoats won’t know what hit them, eh?” he said with a grin. “We should have left a miniature cannon in each place, just to get them thinking.”

                “Like this?” John watched as Lafayette pulled out an elaborately carved stick and pointed it at the cannon. _And Holy Shit that cannon just shrunk_.

                Laurens liked the world in its sensible, logical order. This was neither of those things. So in this situation, he did what would be considered perfectly sensible and logical. John screamed at the top of his lungs.

                .

                “ _Merde_.” Lafayette muttered when he noticed Laurens loudly panicking on the porch. “I’ll go fix the last minute or so. Don’t worry, _mon amie_ , I’ll be careful!” he shouted across the field. “Can’t have his mind muddled for the ladies!”

                “Yeah” Alex tried to appear disinterested, but internally sighed. “For the ladies.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’m back!!! I am glad to tell you that yours truly has not been eaten by a wolf or a bear in the woods. Questions? Comments? Compliments? Concerns? Let me know! I love to hear what you think!


	9. Chapter 9

                Hamilton remained insistent on living in the muggle world, something which greatly confused Lafayette. Perhaps it was his upbringing, but the Frenchman could not get Alex to do anything other than write and go to the muggle pub with the ‘crew,’ save a few potions supply runs. It wasn’t as if he was afraid, but the stubborn wizard stuck to the mundane side of the colonies with an insistent pigheadedness.

                This was problematic for Alex when his skin turned green.

                “You imbecilic _imbecile_!” Lafayette groaned. “You have _dragon pox_ , and you’re writing abolitionist essays?”

                “I’m fine, Fate, stop acting like a mother hen” Alex said as he sat at his desk and tried not to fall over. “If I was sick, could I do this?”

                He stared into the distance for several moments, and Lafayette had to ask. “What are you doing?” the marquis said gently, knowing making a delusional person angry was not the best plan.

                Alex just looked on in confusion. “Cartwheels. Am I not doing them?”

                “Ok. That’s it. I’m bringing over a healer.” Lafayette made towards the floo, but Alex somehow stood up and blocked the fireplace.

“I’m… perfectly fine… you ass…” Alex picked up his wand. “I’ll hex you! Just… after I lie down.” He promptly passed out.

.

When Alexander came to, he was in a large room filled with beds, his was the only one occupied, surprising in a time of war. His head felt clearer, and he winced with embarrassment at how sick him had acted. Oops.

“Hello?” he called out the empty room. The sooner he could get out of here, the better. He just needed to find his stuff. Alex noticed that, dammit, he was wearing robes. He had to get out of this place. He leaped out of bed and made his way over to a cabinet that was (hopefully) holding his belongings.

But no sooner than when his feet touched the floor, he was pushed back onto the cot by a stern mediwitch. “Absolutely not!” she glared at him, and seeing how stunningly gorgeous she was, he felt a little more inclined to agree. “You’ve been unconscious for three days, Mr. Hamilton, you are not leaving here until I’m sure you’re not contagious.”

“Take as long as you like” he said, giving her his most charming smile that had worked on countless women in the past. But she only rolled her eyes.

Maybe it was because he still had a few green pustules on his face, but you never know.

“Lafayette brought you in, so it’s no charge” she said while ignoring his advances. “I owe him a lot, and for that I’ll ignore the fact that you’re looking at me like a dog looks at a piece of meat.”

Hamilton had the decency to be ashamed, and apologized. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. What’s your name?”

_This woman sure knows how to put a guy in his place_ , he thought. _She’s going somewhere_.

“Emily Rappaport. It’s a _pleasure_ to meet you.”

.

A few days later, he emerged from the hospital into the wizarding sector of Manhattan. Lower Broadway, unbeknownst to the No-Maj population, split off into a street called Broadway a Little Bit to the Left. (Technically it was in its own pocket reality, and most wizards just called it Other Broadway to simplify.) Hamilton wandered for a while, looking through the store windows for something Lafayette might want as a thank you. He hated to admit it, but without the Frenchman he probably wouldn’t be doing well.

That is, you know, probably dead.

When he saw a tome in the display of a bookstore, he couldn’t stop a grin from appearing on his face. _Oh hell yes_ , he thought, and purchased The Art of the Animagus with the dwindling supply of his money.

.

Hamilton settled into his routine, writing letters to Laurens and shooting as many of the damn Tories as he could. He quickly established himself as one of the best marksmen in the militia. This was most likely due to the fact he had charmed his rifle to always hit its target, but sometimes he liked to pretend he had actual skill. While he was generally viewed by the men in a positive light, it was none the less concerning to receive a summons from the general.

_Shit, what could have I done_ , Hamilton panicked. _Sure, I’ve brought no less than three different ladies into the camp, but it’s not like they could’ve found out about that, right_? He refused to incriminate himself, though, and pulled himself together before meeting with General Washington.

He opened the door to the general’s office, and was interested to see Aaron Burr making small talk with the General. Not wanting to catch him off guard, Hamilton let his presence be know. “Your excellency, you wanted to see me?”

Washington looked up to see Alexander nervously peering in the office door. “Ah, yes, Hamilton, come in. Have you met Burr?”

“Yes, sir, I have. We keep meeting.”

Burr, who Alex was considering naming Weasel for his ability to ferret into the lives of other people, realized he was about to be dismissed. “As I was saying, sir, I look forward to seeing your strategy play out” he said in a tone that made Hamilton almost snort at its pompousness.

Thankfully, Alex saw the general took the flattery with a grain of salt. “Burr?” Washington said.

“Sir?” Burr practically tripped over his feet to respond.

“Close the door on your way out.”

.

Hamilton couldn’t take waiting anymore, and asked the second Burr had left. “Have I done something wrong, sir?” he said while scanning Washington’s face for any telltale signs he was about to be yelled at. He was glad to find none, and shocked at the general’s next words.

“On the contrary. I called you here because the odds of us winning are beyond scary. Your reputation precedes you, but I have to laugh.”

“Sir?” Alex said cautiously. Where was this going?

“Hamilton, why can no one get you on their staff?”

“Sir!” Alex stood there, speechless, so the General continued.

“Don’t get me wrong. You’re a young man of great renown. I’ve heard that you even stole British cannons when we were still downtown.”

Lafayette, Alex thought, must have gone soft on the memory charm. The shoddy casting had left Laurens telling everyone who would listen that his friends had stolen forty-nine British cannons. In a single night! People were still congratulating him for the feat.

The fiftieth cannon Lafayette had kept in miniature form, despite the protests of the other three wizards on the raid. The Marquis then proceeded to enchant it to shoot at anybody that entered his office with its birdshot sized cannonballs. Alex still had a (concealed) black eye from the damn thing.

“I know Nathaniel Greene and Henry Knox wanted to hire you.” Washington continued.

Hamilton hesitantly responded. “To be their…” menial assistant with no opportunity for advancement in the world of magic due to seven out of his eight great-grandparents being No-Maj’s. That seemed a bit long, so Alex settled for lying. _“…secretary_. I don’t think so.”

It came out a little more disdainful than intended, and was clearly noticed. “Now, why are you upset?”

Oops. This was not going in the right direction. “I’m not” he spat out as fast as he could.

The general didn’t seem convinced. “It’s alright that you want to fight. You’ve got a hunger, just like myself when I was younger. Head full of fantasies of dying like a martyr. Fighting in a glorious battle for your side. Am I right?”

Hamilton was so caught up in the scene, and to his surprise, he was actually agreeing with it. “Yes,” he breathed, and looked up at the general.

Washington nodded like it confirmed his suspicions. “Dying is easy, young man. Living is harder.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I’m being honest. I’m working with a third of what our congress has promised. We are a powder keg about to explode. I need someone like you to lighten the load. So?”

Alex pretended to ponder the offer, but his mind was already made up. The general thought he was deliberating. But Hamilton knew this was a once in a lifetime opportunity. He could _not_ throw away this shot.

He gave the general a curt nod.

“You need all the help you can get. I have some friends, Laurens, Mulligan, Marquis de Lafayette.” He tried to think as fast as he could, and everything came spewing out. “Okay, what else; we need some spies on the inside, some Kingsmen who might let some things slide.”

“I’ll write to Congress and tell them we need supplies, we’ll rally the guys, master the element of surprise.” He realized he was rhyming, and quickly acted like he wasn’t aware of it.

“I’ll rise above my station, organize your information, until we rise to the occasion of this, wait, our new Nation.”

That was quite a train of thought, the genral thought amusedly. He’ll do nicely. “I have the utmost faith in you, Lieutenant Coronel.”

“Thank you, sir” Alex said, then paused. “Wait, Lieutenant Coronel?”

“I believe you needed a rank increase.” Washington replied with a smirk. “Now, let’s go, we have so much work to do.”

And the commander of the Continental army exited the tent, followed loyally by his right hand man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor quote from Parks and Rec. That’s not mine either :(  
> A/N: Oh No! I brought in a barely referenced Pottermore character! Aah!   
> Next up: The Schulyer sisters meet your favorite bastard orphan.  
> Again, please rate and review! Kind words fuel sporadic writing!


	10. Chapter 10

                **A/N: I know, I know! I suck! All my responsibilities caught up with me, and then before you know it it’s been two months; so without further ado…**

                Chapter 10

And so the years passed. Hamilton waited as patiently as he could, proving time and time again that he was ready for command. While he was frustrated that he kept getting passed by for a promotion, Alex reminded himself that he was younger, single, and a relatively new soldier. _Just you wait,_ he told himself, _just you wait._

                In the summer of 1777, they fought with every trick they had, and were still losing. The death, the scent of blood all around him… it made Alex despise himself that he had wished for the gore and horror of this.

                He couldn’t just sit by and allow soldiers who were shot to lay there in agony for hours, praying they could avoid infection or amputation. So whenever he could, he snuck Emily into the hospital area and let her work her magic (in both the literal and metaphorical sense.)

                Word of many miraculous recoveries spread through the camp, bring hope to the army that desperately needed some good news to cling to.

 

                Though Hamilton spent his days writing for Washington and nights helping heal the soldiers, Alex felt his life was aimless. It seemed while he spent his time helping others, he had little for himself. In between the lack of sleep and trying not to die, he studied everything he could. From criminal law to the laws of Transfiguration, he ignored his Earthen needs like food and rest just to consume just a few more pages.

                Occasionally he would attempt to hit it off with what few women he encountered, with mixed results. But one of the few things that brought him true pleasure during the war was flying. It had been hilarious to see Fate’s face when he first made the change. It’s a little surprising, even by wizarding standards, to be in a normal conversation with your friend and suddenly see them turn into a Falcon.

                “ _MERDE_ ” the Marquis had shouted, and fell backwards onto a crate of ammunition. He was soon enthralled, however, and made Alex lend him the book immediately.

                In 1777, Lafayette went back to France to ask for funding, so Hamilton made his way to the MACUSA meeting in Virginia with Emily. She continued to resist his flirting so much Alex wondered if men were even her thing (asking her immediately ended with him being the recipient of a stinging hex, so he decided not to bring it up again.) When they arrived, the ‘Country or Kind’ debate had already begun. Seeing a signup sheet, Hamilton immediately wrote his name down on the ‘Country’ side.

                “Alex, you haven’t written anything” she puzzled while her friend took out parchment and quills. “What on Earth are you going to talk about off the top of your head?”

                He snorted. “Rappaport, do you think I’m stupid? Why do you think I signed up for the evening spot? I have time to get down some basic points” he replied.

                And while Emily worked on her Splattergroit thesis, she watched as Alex began to write with three quills (one in each hand, plus one floating around fixing grammatical mistakes.)

                Writing a two-hour-long speech in three hours would have been impossible for almost anyone, but for Alexander, it wasn’t even an issue. The lengthy and persuasive argument captivated the audience, and he received a standing ovation.

                But to Hamilton’s anger, his efforts were for naught. Fine, he thought. Let those idiotic do-nothing asses ignore the suffering of their fellow men; I’ll help out. Fate, Emily and I can do more than whatever they would have offered.

So the pattern continued. He healed soldiers, fought bureaucrats, and wrote letters. Little was on his mind save potions and battle plans, until a Ball in the winter of 1780 changed his life.

When Angelica first laid eyes on him, she could tell this man was different. He was a beacon of power among the dark sea of mediocrity. She had never met anyone like him, and she knew she never would again.

When she struck up a conversation with this Alexander Hamilton, she couldn’t shake the feeling of _wrongness_ that was elicited just from being around him. He was attractive and alluring, but Angelica couldn’t ignore her intuition. Hamilton seemed perfect, Angelica thought, but something was telling her to avoid him at all costs.

He was enthralling and danger and like magic, and she had never wanted anyone more.

But when her gaze fell upon Eliza’s, Angelica could tell her younger sister was already trapped, like a fly in honey. So she put her own wants and reservations aside, and introduced Eliza to Alexander, because nothing was more important than the happiness of her sister.

One week later…

Alexander was amazing, Eliza thought, and she knew it was too late. His smile, wit, and charm… she was helpless. This was the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

Before she could pine for any extended amount of time, Angelica strolled into the room. “Writing that bastard again, Betsey?” she teased. “You’ve been holed up in your room with letters for days.”

“Don’t call him that” Eliza sighed.

Angelica, not fazed in the slightest, replied “What? It’s not funny when it’s true?”

Her younger sister pursed her lips. “Not really, no. I wish you’d give him a break. He’s been completely honest with me, even when he probably shouldn’t have been.”

“I’m sorry, but I think he’s keeping something from us, Betsey” Angelica said, matching Eliza’s expression. “Just be careful with him, okay? That one will do what it takes to survive.”

“I appreciate the concern, Angie,” she diplomatically decided to say. “But I know him, He understands me, and I him.”

Eliza clutched Alexander’s most recent letter, making sure her sister couldn’t read the marriage proposal he had sent. After all, she knew the logical Angelica could never understand something as beautiful and fragile as love at first sight.

The only issue with this was that Alex hadn’t been completely honest, and it wasn’t love at first sight. At least not for Alex. But he really liked her, and he had a feeling that in time, that could turn to love. She was compassionate, beautiful, and understanding, and he wanted to love her with all his heart.

He hoped she would understand. Alexander still hadn’t told his wife the little things, like, you know, the fact that he was a wizard.

He nervously adjusted his tie. _Well_ , he thought. _I’ll get around to it, sometime. Better late than never. I’m a bit busy right now, and so is she_.

He knew he was lying to himself as he watched his bride-to-be walk towards him, down the wedding aisle.

“ _What the hell do you mean you haven’t told her?”_ Lafayette hissed at him in French. “ _I Floo from France for your wedding, and you mean to tell me she has no idea who she’s getting married to???_”

“I am trying to dance with my wife, Fate. Anything you need to discuss with me can be done later” Alex responded coolly, but there was a tinge of panic to his voice.

_“You are insufferable, Alexander. I’m trying to help you out here_.” Lafayette sighed.

Eliza, meanwhile, was hopelessly confused. _“Help him out with what? Tell me what?”_

Now it was Lafayette’s turn to panic. “ _You speak French, Madame?”_ he began to ramble. “ _Such a delightful language, no? Wow, Alexander is so lucky to have such a beautiful and intelligent wife…”_

Alexander glared at him until he stopped talking. “Yes, Fate I was going to tell her about the …house, thank you for spoiling the surprise.”

“My mistake.” The Marquis made his escape, mouthing ‘sorry’ at him as he made off to dance with Emily.

Eliza didn’t believe them for one second, but what was she to do? They had already tied the knot. So the middle Schulyer sister let it go, and refused to think about the implications behind what they were really saying.

Alex enjoyed some beers with Laurens, dealt with the ever-pompous Burr lurking in the corner, and received a congratulation from General Washington. He met countless in-laws, and danced with Eliza until the moon was high in the sky. But soon all the guests had left, and Alexander had to confront his fears.

“So, this is it?” Eliza asked as the carriage pulled up to a tiny home on the outskirts of Albany.

“Yep, right here for now” he said, and tried not to feel too awkward. He was 23, married, and no longer broke. He could do this.

Eliza opened the door, keeping her expectations low, but was pleasantly surprised. If it weren’t impossible, she would think the house was almost bigger on the inside. Everything in the two bedrooms, kitchen, parlor, dining room, and office looked like it was placed with the utmost thought and care. She gazed around the parlor, looking at the pale green, soft armchairs and the…

“You have an owl?” Eliza called out to wherever her husband had gone. Eliza called out to wherever her husband had gone. He peeked his head out from the kitchen and grinned sheepishly.

“Yep, her name’s Athena. She’s great, and trained like a pigeon, I guess, but she can carry letters which is way more useful and she’s way smarter than a pigeon, yeah…” He drifted off. “Am I talking like Lafayette?”

“It’s alright, I don’t mind,” she replied with a small smirk.

“So…” Hamilton didn’t know that to say. “We’re married?”

“I guess we’re married” Eliza replied, and gave him a nervous smile.

“I don’t suppose you want to…” he started to say, but found his lips were met with a gentle, hesitant kiss.

 

**A/N: That awkward moment when you take an animagus quiz for Hamilton because you think a falcon’s not quite right, and get a falcon as the result. Oops. Also, I’m really sorry guys, but school’s started, and long update times like this might get to be more normal. I know that must be frustrating as a reader, so I apologize. Thank you for reading, and please rate and review!**


	11. Chapter 11

                Marriage was going well for the couple. Alex thought he was living in a dream, coming home to someone every day who would be there, unconditionally, for the rest of his life. In the rush and chaos around him, a calm, warm atmosphere at the end of the day was more than welcome.

                But every morning, he returned to work with Laurens and Washington, and they were all getting more strained. Money and patience were running out, and the latter was thanks to an idiot with a title: Charles Lee.

                “I’ve proven time and time again that I deserved to be general, especially more than that cowardly flea bag,” Alexander complained to his wife in the parlor. “That man couldn’t tell a bullet from a cannonball, and he- Betsey, what are you doing?”

                Eliza had her sewing kit out, but instead of working on mending her petticoat, she had taken the measuring tape and placed it against the windowsill.

                “It’s thirty-six inches,” she muttered, then turned to him. “I measured this morning. The window is twenty-four inches on the outside, but thirty-six in here: That’s impossible!”

                “W-what?” Hamilton stammered, trying to keep his calm. “You must be tired, are you feeling alright?”

                Eliza didn’t understand what she was missing; unfortunately, confusion was an emotion she had been feeling a lot of lately. “I must be, but I could have sworn…”

                “It’s fine, Betsey” he interrupted. “Care for a walk before it gets to dark out?”

                “Sure,” she nodded, but she knew something was off. It was tough to tell what it was, exactly, but she knew she needed to advice. In her mind, she resolved to write Angelica and hoped she wasn’t going crazy.

-

                The battle of Monmouth should have gone better. Hamilton wanted to curse the sky, _General_ Lee, anything. But instead he swallowed his pride, and snuck off to mend the bone of a soldier shot in the arm. God, the kid wasn’t older than sixteen. Not for the first time, he wondered if freedom was worth it.

                “Alex?” he heard John call, and Hamilton quickly stuffed his wand into his boot.

                “In here” he replied, and Laurens made his way over to him.

                Laurens looked at the soldier, who was still unconscious. “It makes you think, doesn’t it” he said quietly, not wanting to disturb him. “That could’ve been me. I mean, my horse got hit with buckshot, missed my leg by an inch. Why is he fighting for his life, while I’m here without a scratch?”

                “Yeah.” Alex thought a second before responding. “Remember that time when we first met? When we were both really drunk? ‘ _I may not live to see our glory, but I will gladly join the fight._ ’ This kid has the same idea. We’re fighting for the same thing he is, for our children to grow up and live in this country.” With every word he spoke, he grew more and more confident that what they were doing was right. “For them to live in this country, telling the story of how we kept this beautiful, amazing land safe for them, for their children, and for all eternity.” He finished the speech like it was to the entire thirteen colonies, not John and a dozen passed out soldiers in a hospital tent.

 Laurens snorted. “Damn, that was eloquent. Don’t wake the guy who took a bayonet to the knee.”

“Hey!” Hamilton punched him in the arm. “I’m sure they, unlike you, appreciate my brilliance.”

“I’d appreciate it if you were quieter” grumbled a voice, and Alex traveled bright red. They quietly ran back to command, trying not to laugh.

-

After Lee’s debacle, Lafayette was placed in charge, something that frustrated Hamilton in spite of being proud of his friend’s achievement. “I guess I’ll never be good enough, eh?” he complained to Eliza as he scrubbed Athena’s cage.

He used to _scourgify_ it early in the morning before Eliza got up, but it was another thing that she quickly grew suspicious of. After she commented on it, he made sure she had awoken before beginning the now far less simple task. From somewhere outside, he could hear an indignant _hoot_ , meaning he needed to finish.

“I’m sorry.” Eliza didn’t know what to say, so she just put her hand on his shoulder, hoping it would reassure her husband.

“Thanks, Bess. I just wish they’d stop treating me like I was a child.”

“Hey; look at me.” She pulled his attention away from the cleaning and towards the sofa. When they were sitting down, she turned his head towards her, until he was gazing into her eyes. “You are the most brilliant and strong and amazing man I’ve ever met. Don’t let this get you down. Okay?”

They kissed for what seemed like only a second, but all too soon the sun’s rays lightened up the room. “I’ll be back in a few hours, Bess. Thank Merlin Lee’s gotten the axe!” And then he was gone.

_Merlin?_ Eliza wondered, then shook her head. _Not important_. She got up and began the weekly baking, and tried not to feel guilty. The letter she wrote the general… she knew she needed to tell Alexander she was with child, but she was scared. What else could she do?

After setting the dough in a bowl to rise, a thought occurred to her. She took out the tape measure from her sewing bag, and walked over to the window.

Today, it was twenty-four inches on both sides. The room felt a little darker, too.

-

“Washington cannot be left alone to his devices, indecisive from crisis to crisis. The best thing he can do for the revolution is turn and go back to planting tobacco at Mount Vernon,” Lee shouted drunkenly at the tavern closest to camp, and Laurens winced. _That idiot’s going to have his ass handed to him_ , he thought. _It’s probably for the best Alex isn’t here: Lee’d’ve probably gotten stabbed_.

Just as the thought (regrettably) went through his brain, a quiet yet deadly voice spoke up from behind him. “He gets power, glory, everything handed to him on a silver platter, and when he throws it all away, he blames the man who gave him his means to succeed.” Hamilton snorted. “If Washington hadn’t explicitly ordered me not duel him, there’d already be a bullet in his brain.”

_Shit._ “Then I’ll do it” Laurens spoke up, well aware this was a huge mistake. But Alex’d do the same thing for him. “Alexander, you’re the closest friend I’ve got.”

Hamilton had a strange glint in his eye, and for the first time since they’d met, Laurens was a little scared of his friend. Alex grabbed his arm, and dragged John towards Lee. “Laurens,” Alexander said with a cruel smile, “do not throw away your shot.”

.

Of course, nothing could be settled. Lee and Hamilton were as stubborn as mules, and any negotiations ended with shouting and unreasonable demands.

Burr stood opposite Alexander, who looked back at him with an even and eerily calm expression. He couldn’t tell what the man was thinking, which was so rare in itself Burr was on edge.

The dark summer night was fading fast, and all too soon Laurens and Lee were circling each other. Burr wondered how he’d gotten into he’d gotten into this mess. _This is idiotic,_ Burr thought as the bullets flew. _I’m never having any part in a duel again, as long as I live._

.

Washington towered over the soldiers, not bothering to mask his anger at Lee having been shot in the ribs.

“Meet me inside.” He said, and Hamilton followed defiantly, not sorry in the slightest. _Lee got what was coming to him_ , he thought, and followed the general into the surprisingly well-lit office.

He sighed impatiently before beginning. “Son-”

“I’m not your son” Alex spat out before the man could finish. He hated it when people called him that.

Washington glared at Hamilton before continuing. “This war is hard enough without infighting”

“Lee called you out, we called his bluff.”

“You solve nothing, you aggravate our allies to the south-”

“You’re absolutely right, John should’ve shot him in the mouth, that would’ve shut him up.” Everything came pouring out. His frustration and anger built up, and he knew there was no going back.

“Son-”

“I’m not your son”

“-watch your tone, I am not a maiden in need of defending.”

Alexander hardly noticed he was shouting. “Charles Lee, Thomas Conway, these men take your name and they rake it through the mud.”

Washington turned away from him, and sat down at his desk. The morning sunlight streaming through the room was in stark contrast to the thunderous mood of the both of them. “My name’s been through a lot, I can take it.”

“Well, I don’t have your titles, I don’t have your land, but if you-”

“NO”

“-If you gave me command of a battalion, a group of men to lead I could fly above my station after the war”

“Or you could die, and we need you alive”

“I am more than willing to die”

“Your wife needs you alive, son I need you alive-“

“CALL ME SON ONE MORE TIME” he roared, and Alexander felt something inside him snap. He felt a burst of energy explode outwards from him, and all the windows shattered.

.

Hamilton looked around the room in horror. Papers were strewn everywhere, mixed with thousands of glass shards. Anything that was in the room was now on the floor, except for a quill embedded several inches into the wall, like it was shot out of a bow.

Washington held a hand to his face, and Alex realized that a piece of glass must have hit the general. He could see a line of blood dripping down his face.

_Oh my god,_ he thought. _Shit shit shit merde shit, what the hell have I done_?

Alex took a step towards the general, but the older man stumbled back, face wary and mistrustful.

“Just… go home, Alexander.” Washington said, talking to Hamilton as if he were a stranger, and Alex realized the gravity of what he had done.

“Sir?” he asked tentatively.

“Go. Home.” The general refused to look him in the eyes, and Alex fled out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The emotional rollercoaster starts going downhill. If the rollercoaster was shaped like a negative quartic function. I should probably go do my math homework… Anyway, please fav/review! Love to hear your thoughts.


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